


My Destiny's Anvils

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Scrubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-12
Updated: 2007-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JD tries to understand the correlation between destiny and sucking at mini-golf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Destiny's Anvils

**Author's Note:**

> This was far more fun to write than it should have been!   
>  Many thanks and much appreciation go to lj users Cadetdru and Riko, for betaing this story; it is better because of them! Also, thank you to my Yuletide recipient, for having made such an awesome request.
> 
> Written for jmtorres

 

 

Enough was enough, and Cox, having had his fill of idiot interns too chicken to insert an IV drip, escaped to an empty conference room. It was for everyone else's own good, really. But most it was mostly for his own good. No need to let his anger out and add new patients to the waiting list.

Except that Cox wasn't alone.

"Here for the 2nd Monthly Other People's Journals Reading?" The janitor, what's his name, asked brightly.

"The what-it-now?"

"The 2nd Monthly Other People's Journals Reading. Didn't you see the sign?"

Cox reopened the door and saw that, indeed, a sign on it proclaimed such a reading. If Cox's anger was like a pressure cooker, whistling out steam, then it had just fallen over and was about to crash onto someone's foot. "Get out--"

The janitor waved a black notebook with a unicorn on the cover. "Today's reading is that annoying doctor's journal."

"Oh-hoh, wait a second there," Cox said in one big rush, "while, yes, I do admit to an inkling of sensation that some might describe as a sort of bored curiosity, I'm already exposed to _enough_ of his whiny attempts at attention-whoring and I do not, I repeat, _do not_ , need to add to it by reading his scribbles--"

Opening the journal, the janitor adjusted his glasses so that they were perched on the tip of his nose and read: "Soaking my feet in a tub of perfumed, rose-petal filled water is the only way to relax after--"

Cox grabbed a chair and, arms crossed over the back, plopped himself in the first row. "You got me at `soak.'"

"Yeah, I figured that'd make you see things my way."

"Why a journal reading, though?"

The janitor pushed his glasses upwards, this time pressing them against the bottom of his forehead. "I tried a poetry reading club, but only that balding lawyer guy showed up, and read something about gaping black holes and soft-shell crabs." A pained look crossed over his face. "Wasn't fun."

"Ah."

"And I don't like poetry," the janitor pondered, rubbing his chin, "It reminds me of my pet canary that pecked my half-brother's eye out. Interesting story, that, actually--"

Cox slapped his hands together, making such a noise that the janitor startled and stopped. "You gonna keep making up crap or can we get to the good stuff?"

"Geez," he muttered, "You try to share a meaningful experience...! Fine, fine, let's see--" Clearing his throat, the janitor, in a pitch two octaves higher than his own, read out loud: "I try to find valuable life lessons--"

***

I try to find valuable life lessons in my all experiences, but this time I've got nothing. Except that maybe I should have waited to break up with Elliot until _after_ we'd had a threesome. But that's a regret I have about all my ex-girlfriends, you'd think I'd have learned by now, wouldn't you.

That, and I have to start paying attention to signs, man. Not the road-traffic signs, I already pay those plenty of attention, I had to, they wouldn't let me pass my driver's license test until I did.

No, I mean Life Signs. The Signs that Destiny throws down on us, like anvils from the sky, to warn us!

The first sign was the fact that there wasn't a single moment in which all four of us were free that week. Either it was Elliot's sacred hour to sleep like the zombie dead (can a zombie be dead? Deader than it already is, I mean?), or Carla had to cover Laverne's shift... you get the idea. Life was clearly launching those anvils, screaming, You Shouldn't Do This!

Well. We're doctors (and one nurse). Who needs signs, we can send off feces to the labs and from that figure out what to do! We don't need Destiny's hints (Note to self: if Turk and I ever form a duet, call ourselves Destiny's Hints).

Anyway, we ignored the signs; we wanted to hang, just the four of us. It'd been a while, specifically, since I stomped on Elliot's heart. Now that she doesn't hate me and my guts (...much) anymore, it was time to out together again!

I ~~blackmailed~~ convinced one of my interns to do my shift, CB-- that's my new shorthand for `Chocolate Bear'-- promised The Todd some favors I will refrain from thinking about, and that was that. Though this decision wasn't based on any feces lab tests, I don't think. At least, I hope not.

Our next anvil came when we found out that the bowling alley, our original destination, had closed.

Elliot wanted to karaoke, but we hadn't raided the supply closet for ear-protecting cotton before leaving the hospital, and Carla wanted to dance, but then she remembered my moves from the 2003 New Year's Eve party. Good times, man, good times. And I suggested mini-golf, just to rile up CB (♥), and it did rile him up, he was totally riled, but then Elliot liked the idea and--

You try saying `no' to Elliot. I dare you. Ted almost lost his hand, and he wasn't even saying `no,' he was just stuttering, "Now," as in, "Now, now, no need to fight." Poor choice of words.

So mini-golf it was.

"Husband-wife team!" Carla proposed at once.

"Ohnonnonono," Elliot, in her ever-so-sensitive way, protested. "I'm not pairing up with Mr. Loser here."

Ouch!, I thought. It was like a herd of basketballs viciously attacked me. (Now, Turk tells me that basketballs don't attack, but he's never been on the receiving end of their ire.) So I said: "Ouch." I like saying what I think.

"Sorry, still a teency-wincy pissed off at you," she said, measuring how teency-wincy-ly pissed off she was with her fingers. I wish Molly had been there, she's been great at keeping Elliot nicer. Even if it meant I'd have to put up with being called `Johnny.'

CB, a TRUE friend!, wrapped his arm around my shoulder, in a totally not gay way. "I've got your back, JD!" How could I not beam at him? I beamed at him. "And you better have mine, `cause I ain't losing!"

"Together, we're invincible," I swore.

Problem was, Elliot was the only one that had any real golfing experience-- she told me once that the Sunday golf games had been how she regularly confirmed that her dad wasn't a figment of her imagination.

Carla just rolled her eyes at us. "Kids!" she exclaimed. "It's just a game."

"It's more than a game," Elliot said, rolling up her sleeves, and was it my imagination, or was there actual fire spitting from out of her eyes? (And do fires spit? How about eyes?) "This is my chance to prove that I'm _better_ than him."

"Yes, that's exactly what it'll prove." Who had been teaching Carla sarcasm? That's like giving a Hashshashin a flame-thrower-- it's overkill, they're already lean-mean maiming machines! (Hah, I totally ruled that alliteration. I'll have to try using it out loud at some point, otherwise its brilliance will be lost here!)

And then we mini-golfed. I don't know, man, there were holes and weird wind-mills that wanted to behead me, I swear, even if no one believes me, and Carla and I mostly hung out in the back while Turk and Elliot whacked the hell out of balls.

"Yes! Did you see that? Right in his mouth!" Turk crowed, circling about the giant fake clown in whose mouth he'd just scored, hooting and pumping fists. He's so cute when he's excited. ♥

"In one shot, good going!" I cheered, high-fiving him. (When The Todd is not around, we feel that it's safe to high-five, even if we've kinda lost our taste for it ever since we met him.)

Elliot got that weird gleam in her eye and that sneer that means she's either about to explode or to kick ass. "Club," she said, sticking her hand out to Carla.

"You're already holding it," Carla pointed out.

"Frick! Okay, fine!" Elliot took one of those never-ending breaths, waving one hand in front of her chest, I guess that makes her relax or something, and she took a swing.

She shot that ball straight into the clown's mouth. In a single shot, just like Turk.

"That did not just happen!" CB hissed.

I wish I could have lied for him. I would have lied. But Carla was there, and there is no lying when Carla is around. "I'm sorry, buddy."

"Damn!" He whined, and I patted him on the back. I would have done more, but Carla was looking at me funny. That was another anvil. I think. Or was it? I'm actually very cool with what happened because of Carla's jealousy, so maybe her frowning at us wasn't so much an anvil as it was Destiny sending us a burst of glittery fairy dust. ...Yeah, I don't get it either, but who can understand Destiny's mysterious ways?

And it was Elliot's turn to dance off, doing this weird kind of go-go kick dance with the club as a cane. I could see her with a top hat and stockings, maybe singing the latest German hard-metal punk hit. It'd be cute, in a disturbing Elliot kind of way, and I have to remember that I'm not allowed to think of her in that way anymore. "I rule, I rule~" she announced to anyone who would listen.

"Tremendously," Carla agreed, and I think it was sarcasm striking again (ZOOM!), but I'm pretty sure she was smiling fondly, too. I can't blame her. It's hard not to be fond of Elliot (it is, however, very possible not to love her).

"This isn't over!" Turk declared and, grabbing my arm, tugged me off to the next hole. I'm pretty sure I saw Carla frowning again. At the time I thought she had to have a stomach-ache, I mean, the sloppy joes at the cafeteria today were worthy of starring in horror films (ATTACK OF THE SLOPPY JOES. Man, I'd so watch that. Maybe I should write the script! I could star as the rugged, handsome hero); the only reason I wasn't sick myself was because I'd been wise enough to opt for two chocolate cake slices instead. Sometimes junk food is the healthier choice!

Again, I didn't really keep track of the score, but sometimes Elliot would do better, and she'd link arms with Carla and they'd do a Victory March and Turk would cling to me and wail. Sometimes it was CB who won, and then we'd bang our chests in a most manly way.

After the fifth time we did our Ultra-Super Duper Secret Handshake, which involved more body contact than you might expect, Carla pulled me aside and asked, pained, "Could you guys tone it down a little?"

"You're just sore that we're winning, baby!" Turk smirked.

Carla raised her eyebrows and in that one motion conveyed more skepticism than a herd of JFK-murder conspirationalists could fit in an armada. "Yes, Turk, that's it exactly." Again, sarcasm was far too deadly a weapon in Carla's hands. Together with Destiny's anvils, someone was bound to get hurt!

We got to the last hole-- how many holes are there, again, in mini-golf? I should pick up the Dummy's Guide-- and, judging from the proud-threat talk Turk and Elliot had going, I think we had to be at an even score. Ah, friendship, how it delights in fights and challenges!

Turk swung first and it was beautiful; the ball skipped through water, bounded hills and, like a strolling duck (do ducks stroll?), landed a millimeter from the hole. It took one more tap to get it in. "Aw, man, yeah! Two swings, you try beating that!"

"Super frick!" Elliot burst out.

"Why does it matter so much, anyway?" I asked her. "It's just a game."

"You tell that to him," she pointed at CB, who was still doing the Victory Dance of Hallelujah. "And-- I don't know. I just can't lose to you right now, okay?"

Ah, scorned women and their award-winning fury.

I was about to point out to Elliot that I had actually only played one round today, during which I took fifteen swings before Turk took my club and got the ball in for me, and that therefore she'd already beaten me, when she took her club and did it again.

A hole in one.

Turk was, needless to say (...then why say it?), devastated.

"You're still the love of my life," Carla offered.

"That's not much comfort right now," CB pouted, watching Elliot robo-dance.

"You're a victor in MY heart," I said. See, with Turk, you have to remind him that he's a winner.

"That means a lot to me," he said.

"Oh, for-- he's more comforting than I am?" Carla asked.

"He made me feel like a winner!" Turk explained. See, didn't I say so?!

"...I know how to make you feel better," Carla said, all fiery Latina determination (is it genetic or cultural?). "Elliot, come here."

"We won, Carla, pretty awesome, huh?"

"Yeah, thrilling," she said. "Come closer."

"What is it?" Elliot asked, tilting her head to examine Carla's face. "Did you get something in your ey--"

I do not know how to put into words what happened next. But I will say (write?) this:

It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen (yes, more beautiful than Heavy D's "Now That We Found Love" music video).

Carla kissed Elliot.

For many seconds.

Many, many seconds.

The image is stamped onto the back of my eyelids. MAY IT NEVER LEAVE.

"I wasn't meant to like that, right?" Elliot asked, in what I would call a dazed state.

Carla looked at her. "You tell me."

Turk snapped out of his own daze. "....Woman, let's go home."

Carla patted Elliot on the shoulder, and she said something, but to be honest, I was totally not paying attention because all I could think was, "DO IT AGAIN." (I better not tell them that, it'd just piss them off.) Carla then left with Turk, holding his hand, and winked and Elliot and I.

"Seriously, I wasn't meant to like that, right?" Elliot repeated.

"I have nothing against you liking that," I assured her.

"Oh, god," Elliot sighed, "My mom was right."

There you have it. Elliot beat us, Carla made her husband feel better, and Turk and I got to see a hot lesbian kiss. So we all won in the end? I guess I exaggerated with the anvils. In fact, come to think of it, I don't think there actually were any (so Destiny wasn't trying to warn us about anything?!). Damn it, I shouldn't let myself be so susceptible to dramatic metaphors; they gallop out of my control every time!

Anyway. That was pretty cool.

***

Cox had long since hunched over the desk, a good deal of his upper body covering its surface, his forehead against the top of his clasped hands. He lay there, his back shaking lightly. He slunk back up only after the janitor snapped the journal shut.

"Oh," he wheezed, "That? Is my new happy place."

"Good, isn't it?" The janitor patted the unicorn drawing. "It's not my favorite entry, of course, but then again, it's hard to pick one."

"Dr. Cox?" A voice asked from the doorway. It was JD. "I've been looking for you everywhere, what've you been up to?"

Cox hopped up to his feet. "Lean-mean maiming machine, huh."

JD blinked. "Did you just come up with that? Oh my god, great minds _do_ think alike, I thought of it last week--"

"Trust me, I know." At first JD just looked confused, but the janitor helped by waving the journal in the air. JD's jaw dropped, but didn't say anything. "Same place, same time?" Cox asked the janitor.

"I'll let you know," and the janitor nodded as Cox left.

"I can't believe--!" JD seethed, snatching back his journal. "That's _private_!"

"Not anymore, it isn't." The janitor smiled.

"And why are you wearing glasses, anyway! I bet you don't even need them."

"True, but--" The janitor adjusted them again. "Who'd go to a reading led by someone who didn't look the academic part?"

"Get out of here!"

"And you," he said, pointing at JD, "keep writing; we'll need more material for our next reading!"

Alone, JD shook his head and sat where Cox had been-- mmm, it was still warm (that's about all the comfort he'd get out of this, he knew...). Taking out a pen, he started to write: "Damn it, I knew the anvils had to come in somewhere!"

 

 

 


End file.
